


Not-So-Stressed Baking

by lunarlychallenged



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Modern AU, like always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 04:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13919073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarlychallenged/pseuds/lunarlychallenged
Summary: You had only gone to his apartment to drop off some baked goods you didn't need, but he was really cute so now you had to keep baking as an excuse to go back.





	Not-So-Stressed Baking

You gave a deep sigh, hands on your hips, and looked at your kitchen table with defeat. Baked goods covered it in its entirety, and you regretted going overboard. You had not just walked the figurative plank with your baking; the ship was out of sight. There were brownies and rice krispy treats; snickerdoodles and lemon cookies; sugar cookies and no bakes.

You had always been a stress baker, and that had been useful in college. You could just whip up a batch of cookies before a difficult test or make brownies when you should have been writing a paper, and then you could leave them out in the commons of the dorms. People ate them, you had calmed down a bit, and everybody was happy. Now that you were in the dreaded real world, you were too tired after work to bake and had nobody to share it with.

It had been a stressful week at work, but you had managed to keep from exploding by reminding yourself that the weekend was coming. You spent the week imagining all of the things you could make on Friday night, and when the workday finally ended that day, you had erupted into action. It was now 11 o’clock on Friday evening, and you worried that you had worked out too much of the stress at once.   
Your shoulders were relaxed and your mind was clear enough for coherent thought for the first time in a week, but you had too much food to eat on your own.

You didn’t really have friends to invite over to share with. You had friends, of course; most people have friends. They just weren’t the kind of friends that you invited over. They weren’t friends that would be pleased to get a text from you late at night. They were friends for convenience, not friends because you cared about each other.

So, in a burst of confidence that was only possible when you were tired and desperate, you piled plates and tupperwares full of goodies onto your desk chair and wheeled them out into the hallway of your apartment complex.

Which way to go?

You couldn’t very well leave the chair out in the hallway; somebody might take it. If you just lined up the plates and tupperware on the floor, you might never get them back. You would just have to see if anybody was awake this late. Maybe there was a party somewhere in the building. High people loved snacks, right?

You did your best to be quiet as you wheeled your goodies down the hall, both to avoid disturbing anybody and to make sure that if anybody else was being loud, you would know who was awake. The elevator, as was typical for your rotten luck, was broken. You wanted to rid yourself of the food, but you were not so desperate as to carry it all up and down stairs.

There was one apartment, on the opposite end of the hallway from yours, that had real promise. You could hear the low rumble of conversation, but what if it was just two people having a talk? They might not appreciate your interruption, even if it did end in desserts.

Just as you were about to give up hope, cheers and groans erupted in the apartment. They thundered through the hallway, no doubt waking up everybody on the floor. You quickly pushed your up to the offending door and knocked.

“Now you guys have done it,” a voice said as somebody came to the door. Before the door was open enough for you to see who would answer, he was already talking. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late. I’ll make the guys quiet down.”

He looked at you. You stared back, suddenly feeling out of your depth. He was handsome. That had not occurred to you as a factor. He was small with meticulously messy blond hair that practically begged you to run your hands through it. He smiled at you, a little confused, when you continued to gape instead of speak.

“Do you need something? Other than for us to quiet down, I mean,” he said, eyes locking onto your chair. You followed his gaze down, first taking in his truly spectacular arms and hands, gripping a crutch, before you realized what a mess you were.

You hadn’t changed your clothes before heading out in search of worthy recipients. Why would you have? You didn’t know anybody in the building, so you hadn’t known that there was anybody to impress. Maybe if you had known, you would have put on something that wasn’t covered in flour, dough, splotches of frosting, and an unfortunate glob of melted chocolate.

“I messed up,” you said in a slightly strangled voice. You then looked back at him, knowing that your words cleared up absolutely nothing but hoping that he would get the gist anyway.

“Okay,” he said slowly, uncertainly. “Can I help fix it?”

“Yes,” you said with relief. As long as you didn’t look at his nice - no, fantastic - face, you could get words to work again. “Yeah, I was binge baking, and I kind of outdid myself. I don’t need all of this, or any of it, really. Do you want anything?”

The longer you talked, the wider his smile became. “You made too many cookies, and you just want us to take them?”

You shrugged. “Yeah.” After a moment’s thought, you stuck your hand out for him to shake. “I’m Y/N, from down the hall. I don’t just, like, walk around and give cookies to randos.”

Another boy came up behind him, a vape pen reeking of apple pie tucked between his teeth. “Crutchie, we’re ready to start the next round. Elmer chose all three Rainbow Roads. Dick. Who’s at the door?”

“Your name is Crutchie?” The question burst from you before you had time to weather it down from amusement to interest.

He grinned, not looking offended at all. “It sure is. Race, Y/N from down the hall brought us cookies.”

Race looked at the chair and raised his eyebrows. “She really did. Must have been really mind blowing sex. Way to go, Crutch.”

Crutchie’s cheeks went a little red, but he dug his elbow into Race’s ribs without hesitation. “You wouldn’t know. You’ve never had sex good enough to get a second date, let alone cookies.”

“You wound me,” Race said, raising a hand to his heart with a pained grimace. He looked to you and winked. “Coming inside?”

You pointed to yourself, surprised. “Me? Oh, no, I should probably go. If you want anything, though-”

“You brought ‘em to the right place, doll. We’ll take it all,” Race said before Crutchie could respond. He siezed the back of the chair and wheeled it in, leaving you and Crutchie by the door.

“He’s usually not like - okay, no, that’s a lie, he’s always like that,” Crutchie said with a sheepish grin. “I’m having a game night, so you really saved the day. Are you sure you don’t want to come in? There’s always room for one more.”

You really thought about it. Looking at him, with his big smile and warm eyes, you were filled with a momentary desire to join in. It had only been a half hour before, after all, that you had been wishing you had some friends to share with. But then you thought of the familiarity between Crutchie and Race. Maybe you wouldn’t fit in. Maybe there was always room for one more at a game night, but that wouldn’t mean that you actually fit in at the game night.

“I can’t,” you said regretfully. “I should get to bed. It’s pretty late, you know.”

He held out his hand to shake yours one more time. His grip was tight and warm, and the calluses on his fingers made your stomach flip. “I’ll bring back your plates and chair,” he promised.

“‘Till we meet again,” you said in an airy voice. “You’ve done me a real solid, Crutchie. Even if it wasn’t because of mind blowing sex.”

He groaned. “I swear, he has redeeming qualities.”

Maybe it was because of the late hour, or maybe it was the way he made eye contact a little longer than what was strictly necessary. Whatever the reason, the daring that gave you the nerve to walk the hallways in pursuit of a cookie recipient roared to life long enough for you to wink. “Who knows, maybe next time that really will be why.”

Crutchie was snorting a laugh when he closed the door, and you had a foolish grin on your face until you fell asleep.

 

Two days later, you almost tripped over yourself in your haste to get to the door. You had given Crutchie and the boys an awful lot of food, but you weren’t expecting anybody else on a Sunday afternoon. You pressed your face against the peephole eagerly. Sure enough, Crutchie stood outside in a t-shirt and cargo shorts, leaning with one arm against his crutch and holding your chair in the other.

You opened the door and beamed at him. “You sure finished fast.”

He shrugged. “We actually finished it all on Friday night, but I had to wash the dishes and make something to bring back.” 

“Oh, Crutchie, you didn’t have to make me anything!” He pushed the chair at you and you caught it, looking down into the top container. “That’s not - is that - playdough?”

“Hear me out,” he said with a sheepish smile. He took his snapback off and ran a hand through his hair. “Jack, my roommate, said that it was stupid to bring you food, since you obviously didn’t need food or you wouldn’t have brought some to me. But I had to bring something I made myself, or it wouldn’t be an adequate thank you.”

“So,” you said slowly, “you made playdough?”

“Oh, I’m an expert playdough chef. The best in my sixth grade class,” he said seriously.

You laughed, a loud, bubbly sound, and his smile went a little goofy. You opened the door a little farther. “Do you want to come in? I’ve gotta break the playdough in, and I could use some help.”

His face fell. “I can’t. I’m meeting up with Davey and his brother for coffee. I’m supposed to meet them in ten. Rain check?”

You agreed and said your goodbyes. Closing the door, you hoped to high heaven that he really would come back. Just in case, though, you started considering another excuse you could use to talk to him.

 

By Wednesday, you decided that you needed to take action. Maybe three days shouldn’t have felt like so long, but you liked this boy. 

You shifted the large bowl to one side so you could knock on the door. The seconds that passed while you waited for somebody to answer were a little tense; maybe you really weren’t welcome. It’s one thing to accept food from a stranger when she brings it unexpectedly, but it’s a totally different ball game when it happens again. If he wasn’t interested, this would be really awkward.

There was a second of pure, blind panic when the boy who answered the door wasn’t your boy. His eyes narrowed for a second, but when his eyes settled on the bowl, something clicked into place. “Y/N?”

“That’s me,” you said.

“Oi! Crutch! Your girlfriend is here!” The word “girlfriend” was accompanied by the boy waggling his eyebrows at you, but his smile was genuine. “Those sugar cookies were incredible. Stress-bake all you want.”

Crutchie walked into view and his eyes lit up. “Y/N!” 

All of your worry melted when he hurried over to the door. Your smile was a little goofy, surely, but you had forgotten how cute he was. Goodness, you were a sap.

“Stress-baking again?” he asked. 

“Something like that,” you said. Honestly, you had been so distracted by meeting him that work had flown by. You hadn’t stress-baked; you had been hope-baking. Happy-baking. “I just felt like making caramel corn and thought that I might as well bring some by.”

What a lie. You hadn’t “just felt like” making caramel corn. It only took you an hour, but you spent the entire time trying to ensure that it came out perfectly. You had waited impatiently for enough time to pass between the preparation and the delivery for it to seem reasonable that you just decided to “bring some by.”

“Wow,” he said with admiration. “You must be some cook. I wish that I had the patience to bake for fun.” You could see the delight grow when his smile spread smoothly and his eyes crinkled further.   
“You should come in! We can have a movie night, eat some caramel corn, hang out. It’ll be great!”

You could have danced. Yes, yes, yes. Every good thing that you had imagined about this moment was happening. “Really? That would be great!”

It was the first time in forever that you spent a night with a friend, and what a night it was. You watched Singing in the Rain with Crutchie and Jack, the former watching it with a warm smile and the latter with a mask of boredom covering what you assumed was fondness. You and Jack tried to toss popcorn into each other’s mouths, though he was much better at catching it than you were. Crutchie told you about all of his friends, praised your lemon cookies, and swore up and down that you would have to come over again. You had never seen West Side Story, after all, and there were some old movies that simply had to be watched.

 

It became something of a tradition for the two of you. One of the two of you would show up at the others door with something and the evening would be spent in each other’s company. You brought baked goods, all of which he swore up and down were the most incredible things he had ever tasted. He brought random things, all of which he made himself. Sometimes it would be more playdough, sometimes brandy slush, sometimes he would draw you pictures, and one memorable day he made you a sock puppet. It sat on your bedside table, where you could admire it at night when your stomach was a fluttery mess and your heart was almost too big to bear.

You had met his friends officially. They were a funny group; Crutchie told you that most of them had known each other since grade school and had been inseparable ever since. They definitely gave off vibes of deep familiarity; so strong that a part of you had worried that they wouldn’t want you there just because you had never been there before.

That fear had been calmed the second Race answered the door. “Cookie girl! You’re an angel, bringing tidings of great joy.”

You held up two plates, one piled high with cupcakes and the other with cream puffs. “You know it.”

His eyes went soft at the sight of the food. “You really are an angel.”

You winked at him. “Nah, it really is just the mind blowing sex.”

His laughter was cut short by Jack’s girlfriend, Katherine, who had insisted upon meeting you weeks earlier. “Y/N, is he bothering you?”

“I would never,” Race said emphatically. “I’ve just been showering her with compliments. At this rate, I’ll have to duel Crutchie to the death so she starts making me food.”

Crutchie shoved through the two to get to the doorway, grinning his greeting. “For food like this, I would win.”

“No way,” Race scoffed. “You don’t stand a chance against all of this.” He gestured to himself, all six feet of pure lank. “You’d be dead, and I’d get the food.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said. “Crutchie would never do that to me.”

You melted a little in response to his smile, but Race and Katherine groaned. “Save it for later, lovebirds,” she said. “We’ve got a party, but we still need the refreshments.”

You were welcomed into the group with open arms, open hearts, and open stomachs. Katherine sometimes took you shopping if one of you heard about a sale. You teamed up with Davey to get Les ready for a food day at school. If Crutchie was invited to go out with some of the group for coffee or a movie, an invitation was almost always extended to you.  
The closest thing to a downside about hanging out with all of his friends was the fact that they all teased you about dating him. You didn’t even mind that, not really, but you weren’t sure how to respond. If you joked about it, Crutchie might assume that you thought the idea of dating him was funny. If you didn’t joke back, it might look like you were bothered by the jokes or by the idea of dating him. You were almost definitely overthinking it, and trying to find a balance between the two was stressing you out, but at least all of the baking could be put to use when you went over to Crutchie’s.

 

You were confused when there was a knock at the door at 8 in the morning on a Sunday, but when you saw that it was Crutchie carrying cupcakes, you didn’t hesitate to let him in.

“Cupcakes for breakfast? Living that healthy life,” you teased sleepily. You were still in pajamas, but you had fallen asleep on Crutchie’s couch often enough to have lost your hesitancy to see him in the morning. The husky sound of his voice when he got up in the morning had been more than enough to make it worth spending the night.

“It’s like eating donuts, but festive,” he said. He wasn’t meeting your eyes, which was odd, but not nearly as odd as the way the corners of his lips curled down even as he smiled.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure,” he said. “Just nervous.”

“Are these stress-baking cupcakes?” You were surprised; he usually worked out his stress by swimming. You had gone to the pool with him once, and it was almost intimidating to watch him. The arms that you had admired so much when you first met were stronger than you had ever imagined. You tried to get a closer look at the cupcakes, but he shifted them away.

“Something like that,” he replied. When he finally met your eyes, his smile was shy. “I, uh, was going to wait until later, but I couldn’t wait.”

When he put them on your kitchen table, your words failed. The cupcakes, clearly homemade, had been decorated in two different ways: about half of them had little frosting hearts, and the rest had the word DATE? piped on in a clumsy but readable scrawl.

Crutchie shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I know they aren’t as good as what you make, but they’re the best I could do by myself.”

“You want to date me?” The question was breathless; you and Crutchie had been friends for months, and you had started to think that maybe he really did just see you as a friend.

“Sure,” he said with surprise. “Of course I want to date you. I want - I want everything with you. You’re the best part of, well, everything.”

“Okay,” you said. It was inadequate, but you couldn’t think of anything, not words or food, that could accurately express how absolutely wonderful dating Crutchie would be. Maybe a cake - a wedding cake - no, that would be getting way ahead of yourself -

You stepped to him, overeager, and kissed him. He gave a muffled “oh!”, but there wasn’t a moment of hesitation before his hands were resting at your waist. You felt like you probably still had morning breath, his crutch was digging into your ribs, you really wished that you had eaten a cupcake before kissing him, and it was perfect. His lips tasted faintly of the frosting that he must have eaten earlier that morning and you could feel his lips curling into a sweet smile against yours. You smiled too, making it really hard to kiss him smoothly, but you had time to perfect it. You would have plenty of time to perfect it, and for once, the imperfection wasn’t stressful at all. As a matter of fact, your head had fallen silent. 

Crutchie flashed you a bewildered, delighted smile when he pulled away. “Okay,” he echoed. 

You gave a mock sigh of regret. “I’m not going to have to stress-bake anywhere near as much anymore.”

“I guess I’ll just have to make sure the sex blows your mind,” Crutchie replied. If the affect his lips had on you after just a kiss was any inclination, he wouldn’t have a hard time with that at all.


End file.
